And They Said It Wouldn't Last
by DevilinaCardigan
Summary: Tara's pretty sure that whatever this is won't end well. Then again, nothing she starts ever does. *Complete*
1. Another Great Love Story

Author's Note: _This right here...what can I say except, come hell or high water, I'm writing something happy next. Also, these two stories are not companion pieces or sequels of any kind. I originally wrote them for Porn Battle and just didn't want to post them separately. __"Another Great Love Story" answers the prompts for: **Creepy** and **Human**._

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**And They Said It Wouldn't Last: Another Great Love Story  
**

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They _meet_ through a one-night stand but they _begin_ with a kidnapping.

Franklin's sure that most great love stories do.

-0-

After they leave Russell's house, she stares at a picture of her cousin, of Lafayette, sometimes for hours on end.

Franklin hates it.

He knows the other man is no threat and even if he was, he wouldn't (_couldn't_) come near to the blistering heat they feel for one another. He still can't stand it though. The knowledge that there's even an inch of her heart that isn't filled to the lip with _him_.

Franklin watches her stare down at the slip of paper and his face hardens.

-0-

They play a game, every now then, where she tries to kill him.

She waits until the middle of the day, then pulls a weapon she's hidden somewhere during the night from its hiding place. He pretends to be asleep as she creeps toward him and just when she brings the piece of wood or metal or whatever she's squirreled away down, he jumps up. Wrestles it from her grasp and holds her down until she stops yelling and crying and begging him for things he knows she doesn't really want.

Franklin gazes at her with a smile. He thinks this is the most fun he's had in decades.

-0-

She's laying lengthwise across the bed in their hotel, head resting in his lap, as he tends to her wounds. He'd had to rough her up a little more than usual. She just got so overzealous about their amusements sometimes.

"What were you like when you were human?"

Franklin guesses it's the pain making her all soft and docile because he can't remember if she's ever asked him a question before now that wasn't a variation on _Oh God, what are you doing!_ or _Please stop! Don't!_ He likes it. Not necessarily her pliability, but how curious she is about him.

"I was the same." He finally answers. "I was just like I am now."

She doesn't seem as elated by that answer as Franklin thinks she ought to be.

-0-

Their arguments are fairly regular (_it's the price he gladly pays for wanting someone so much like himself_) but even Franklin worries they've gone too far this time.

She's all flash and violence, screaming about something or other when she grabs an object off their dresser and thrusts it towards him. He should've seen it coming but he didn't and it breaks through his skin and muscle, draws blood. He moves on instinct then, grabs her shoulder and shoves her back against the wall until he hears something crack and she lets out a low moan that sounds more surprised than hurt.

That soft sound breaks the spell and he lets her go immediately. Sometimes he forgets she isn't like him. That she's easily breakable and needs to be treated accordingly (_Gentle, Franklin…gentle…_) so he tugs her toward the bloody hole she made next to his heart apologetically. "Drink."

"No!" She says firmly and raises her arms to brace herself before falling against him with a pained scream. "I won't!"

"Don't be silly now," he scolds and cups the back of her neck, firmly pulls her toward him. "I can't take you to the hospital and this is the only way I can help."

That's not exactly true. He could set it and give her a Tylenol but this way he kills two birds with one stone. She heals up in a matter of minutes instead of weeks and he helps her realize how much he truly means to her. How much she really wants to stay.

He helps Tara forward and she hesitantly puts her lips to his wound. Franklin can feel the pressure from her suckling mouth as a delicate pain in the center of his back and he cradles the side of her face. Lets his eyes drift shut as he imagines his blood flowing into her mouth and through her veins. Mending all of her bruises and scrapes and making her stronger than she already is.

They lay down together afterward and when he spoons against her back, she melts into his embrace.

Tara jerks away from him the next night and won't speak for two days after that.

Franklin lets her have her way. He knows it won't be easy to break her. He wouldn't love her if it was.

-0-

They're lying in his favorite position (_big spoon/little spoon_) and he watches with sloe eyes as she rubs her thighs together and moans next to him. She knows now, whether she wants to or she doesn't, he's in her blood for good. She can't hide anymore. He knows, the moment she wakes up, that she feels confused before she looks at him leaning over her shoulder and it turns into something he can't really distinguish.

They stare at one another as he takes a deep breath, smiles. "Smells like sweet dreams."

It's not the first time Tara's looked at him with murder in her eyes but he still gets so hard at her gaze it should hurt. It doesn't though, or maybe it does. Franklin's never been good at telling the difference.

He leans forward and she doesn't try to stop him when he kisses her gently and starts to unbutton the front of her night gown or when he reaches down to pull her night dress up and her underwear off or even when he bends her leg back and over his own to work himself inside of her.

He'd known she wouldn't. Franklin's privy to all her deepest desires these days.

He plucks a nipple with one hand and slides the other arm across her chest like a safety belt. She smells like daytime, traces of car exhaust and grass and sweat, and Franklin buries his face in the side of her neck. Decides he doesn't want to change her, not just yet anyway. He likes her heat too much.

"I don't understand what's happening," she utters on a moan, genuinely confused.

He looks down between them to see himself moving in and out, to see himself slick and shiny with her.

"What's there to understand? You love me."

She gasps when he moves deeper but doesn't lose track of her thoughts. "No. That's not right."

Anger spreads through his chest before he tamps down on it. She doesn't understand what this is, she's only human after all. He'll have to help her. Franklin glides a palm down her body, over her breast, across her belly button and through the v of her thighs. She jerks toward his touch when his fingers slide across the right spot. He pinches the bundle of nerves a little harder than he should and she groans so low he has to strain to hear it.

Franklin gives her a smile that hides daggers.

"Yes it is."

-0-

He wakes up the next afternoon to see her standing in the door awash in sunlight.

She's in a strange mood. Not happy or sad or angry but something else…set. He thinks she's made a decision about something. She turns toward him and stares before she puts her hand out, beckoning him toward her.

He's stronger and faster than she is but Tara's already gotten the drop on him once. All she would need was a second. A moment's hesitation on his part and Franklin would be reduced to nothing but soot and embers. His cock twitches at the possibilities. He stands from the bed and toes the edge of sunlight streaming into their room from the open door, reaches out for her hand.


	2. When Life Gives You Lemons

Author's Note:_"When Life Gives You Lemons..." answers the prompts for: **Fire in the Blood** and **Rush**. I hope everyone reads. enjoys and replies!_

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**And They Said It Wouldn't Last: When Life Gives You lemons...  
**

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After he forces her to drink his blood, her continued resistance becomes perfunctory. She knows now that there's no way out of this.

-0-

He's started to let her wander the house alone and she goes into the kitchen just before dinner. Tara turns her nose up at the chilled glasses of blood lining the serving table and peeks into the freezer. There's a plain white carton inside and she pulls it out, takes the top off to see it contains something like gelato or sorbet.

She'd been asking for dessert all week so Tara almost smiles as she reaches into a nearby drawer and pulls out a big serving spoon to taste it with. The flavor's interesting, sweet at first but there's something strange under the surface, something familiar that she can't place at the moment. She's still thinking about it when she turns around to see Russell and Talbot watching her.

"He doesn't usually let his blood beasts walk around." Talbot states in that lilting voice that makes her want to cower and break his nose at the same time. "What have you got there?"

Tara looks down at the carton and clears her throat. "Just some sorbet."

They glance at one another with a grin and she watches them warily.

"That's blood honey," Russell informs her flatly and it comes to her then, what that underlying taste reminds her of. It's the memory of sucking cut fingers and tonguing areas that used to hold baby teeth. Everything in her wants to throw the tub down, to start gagging but that's what they're waiting for, what the sly smiles on their lips desire so she raises her eyebrows slightly and kicks the freezer door shut instead.

"Hmmm," she mutters and takes another spoonful as she makes her way out of the kitchen. "It's good. It tastes like honey suckle."

-0-

Tara throws up the rest of the night but it's worth it for the looks on their faces.

-0-

She stays awake the next afternoon, as he lies curled against her side. Franklin's the same needy motherfucker asleep as he is awake and she feels like she's smothering under his possessive touch. There's nowhere else for her to go though. She narrows her eyes and stares at the blackout curtains across the room, thinks about her failed bid for escape once again.

It should have worked and it _would've_ if it weren't for him, for that piece of shit werewolf. She feels herself getting tense and tries to relax. What kind of stupid ass name is Cooter anyway? Tara hates him for what he did. More than she hates Bill for turning his back when she'd started to think he was one of the good ones. Even more than she hates Franklin because Cooter's closer to being human than the dead thing beside her probably ever was. She grits her teeth at the thought of him.

She hates this house. She hates the way they treat her like she's a pet, the way they talk to her like she's a baby and somewhere between being pissed off and being terrified; she begins to form a plan. Not for escape this time but something she can actually have: retribution.

-0-

"Hey Cooter." He starts at her voice and she smiles. "How are you?"

"Fine," he says, watching her intently. "You?"

"Good."

He nods his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. "What are you talking to me for?"

She tilts her head to the side and shrugs. "Why not?"

"After that thing on the lawn—"

"That was business," she cuts in. "We both did what we had to."

Cooter looks at her with surprise for a moment and she meets his gaze head on. He nods before he exits the library, eying her the entire time.

"You'll need sleep if whatever you're planning is going to work."

Tara looks over her shoulder to find a tall blonde vampire standing in the corner with a wineglass of red liquid. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, she hates how silent they are. "Excuse me?"

"I know sleep makes you vulnerable," he goes on. "Well, more vulnerable, but you'll need it. Whatever it is won't pan out most likely but it _definitely_ won't if your reflexes are off."

She's about to say something when Franklin appears in the doorway, suspicious, and all of her energy switches gears toward trying to placate him.

She sees the same man around the house later but they never speak of it again.

-0-

It's pretty easy to pull Franklin's strings once she gets started.

She asks him a few too many questions about the other man, lets him catch them speaking every now and then and that's all it takes.

They're talking about something innocent, like the weather or TV, when she sees Franklin coming up behind Cooter. He's not using his vampire speed but he still looks otherworldly, unhinged with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Something inside of her knows what's about to happen but she doesn't put it all together until he grabs Cooter's arm and blood sprays across the front of her dress.

She can't make sense of what she's seeing at first. Cooter's yelling, high awful shrieks that she'll never forget, on the floor across the room and Franklin's standing with his back to her. Three arms protruding from his torso.

There's a flurry of activity after that and she shoves herself further into the wall, doesn't look away or even really react to the carnage in front of her. Not when Cooter tries to shift and Franklin bends his remaining arm back so far he can't even scream. Not when Cooter takes a bite out of Franklin's side and blood splashes across her feet. Not even when Franklin finally gets the upper hand and slams Cooter into the floor face first, leans over his back and rips into his throat.

She just watches. Watches them both and doesn't say a thing.

-0-

She kisses him afterward and she can't really say why. Tara still hates him, more than anything or anyone now, but his mouth tastes like copper and she shivers, pulls him closer. He backs her up against the wall and palms her breast through the ugly ass dress he's forced her wear since they've been here. She grabs his shoulders and he helps her up to wrap her legs around his waist.

He reaches between their bodies and underneath all the frills of her gown to find her wet, wet as the night they met and she grinds down onto him shamelessly. He touches her for a moment but she doesn't really want foreplay tonight. Tara reaches for and unbuckles his belt deftly, reaches inside for the hard length of him and makes it through two strokes before she bats his hand away from her and slides onto it.

He moves inside of her at a punishing pace and it feels good, so much better than anything else, but something's nagging at her. Something's off at the edges of her mind that she can't grasp. Tara rests her head against his shoulder and when she opens her eyes, her gaze falls onto the bloody man at their feet.

Cooter's eyes are still blinking and Tara stares down at him as Franklin moves his hand to her clit and makes her come.

She can't make herself look away.

They pack quickly later on, laughing like co-conspirators, and she guesses they are. The thought doesn't scare her as much as it should and she makes sure to _accidentally_ knock down one of Talbot's most prized vases on their way out of the door.

-0-

She's pretty sure that whatever this is won't end well. Then again, nothing she starts ever does.


	3. Hell's Around the Corner

_An__: I wrote this forever ago for Trueblood_las over on LJ. I got second place in the end. Anyway, this is not connected to the other two fics in any way and the prompt was forced singing. I hope everyone enjoys and replies!_

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**And They Said It Wouldn't Last: Hell's Around The Corner**

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Tara's sitting on the wide front porch of Sookie's house when she feels someone walk towards her.

She knows it's him even though it's the middle of the day, even though she's staring straight ahead. She guesses this is another one of those dreams or a hallucination or maybe he's a fucking astral projection because his visits feel too real to not _be_(and she could just ask Sookie what's happening but that would lead to questions she's not yet interested in answering). Then she sees the tips of Franklin's cowboy boots appear on the very edge of her vision and she stops thinking all together.

He moves to lounge beside her and he's wearing the same thing he wore the first night they met. They don't speak at first, just look out onto the expanse of dead grass that passes for her friend's front yard.

"Do you love me?" It's a dumb question, a weak question. One she would never actually ask him if they came face to face (She'd be too busy staking his ass) but this isn't real anyway.

"You know I do," he replies with a look that brooks no argument and something inside of her warms at his conviction. _It's the blood_, she quickly tells herself but the truth of why she's feeling what she's feeling doesn't dull the sensation one bit.

"You'll let me go then?" Her voice sounds tiny to her own ears but he doesn't need her to repeat it. If the way he's laughing now is any indication, he heard her loud and clear.

"Where would you get that idea?"

"Because..." She trails off and he watches her like he's actually interested in the answer. "Because, when you love something you let it go or some shit."

"Oh, okay," he responds with an eye-roll and she stares at him, trying hard to keep it together, to be strong but she can't anymore. She knows he's coming after her. It's not a matter of _if_, it's a matter of _when_and she can't bring herself to suck it up. She's not Sookie, she knows no one will save her.

"'Cause I'm not happy, Franklin." His whole face goes soft at that, like he's sad for her. He leans in close, touches the side of her face and an all but forgotten memory of Lettie Mae emerges from somewhere in the back of her mind.

Tara's a kid, eleven or twelve, and Lettie Mae's slow dragging with a bottle of Gin in the middle of their living room. Their little grey radio is sitting on the ledge of an open window

(_One Less Bell to answer_

_one less egg to fry_

_I should be happy_

_but all I do is cry_)

as she shuffles across the floor slowly. "Sing, Tara," she mutters without opening her eyes. Tara sighs, intends to ignore her when Lettie Mae hits her across the face with a loud _crack_.

Tara gasps, mad at her mother, but more angry with herself for forgetting how fast Lettie Mae could go from benign to malicious. "_Sing_," Lettie Mae whispers, lips curled back from her teeth and Tara tastes blood from the cut inside of her cheek before she opens her mouth, takes a deep breath and...

Tara turns away from Franklin when she comes back from the memory, off balance and shaking, asks, "Don't you think I deserve to be happy?" in a flat voice.

He pushes his nose against the back of her neck, slips a hand around her waist and between her thighs and she doesn't even try to fight how good it feels. He bites the curve of ear, sounds like he's smiling as he whispers, "No," into her hairline.

Her eyes sting as she turns back into him and hides her face against his shirt. He wraps his free arm around her, says, "It's okay. I'll be here soon." That scares her more than anything else but, when he squeezes her tighter, she hugs him back.

"Listen," he says after a moment with a voice that's less like the man she met outside of Merlottes and more like the man she knew in Mississippi. Tara raises her head and isn't exactly surprised when the little grey radio is sitting on the banister behind him.

(_Though I try to forget_

_it just can't be done_)

"Sing, Tara. I bet you have a beautiful voice." 

Why? 'Cause I'm black?

The retort is on the tip of her tongue and even though she would have said it without a thought two months prior, even though this is a dream (_it's not real, it's not real, this isn't happening..._) she stops short of voicing it.

She swallows but doesn't move to open her mouth and when he grabs her jaw between his pointer and thumb fingers so tightly she hears something crack, Tara refuses to make a sound. "_Sing,_" he orders, fangs elongated and she has a sudden urge to kiss him. To cut herself, to give him everything he could possibly want (_don't, Tara. It's the blood, it's the blood...)_

That voice inside her head sounds so far away now.


End file.
